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Campus Wit Returns: Quad Day For Buffoons Lacking in Moral Fiber

Happy Reunion, Devoted Readers. Despite challenges to my honor and name, I have returned and persist as your devoted Campus Wit.

After a summer filled with tarry and talk, another school year looms. Books are being bought, supplies are being sought, brains are turned on to thoughts of delight, debauchery and depression. In short order, students will return to the cracked and crusty confines of Champaign-Urbana. First stop for many of these students? Quad Day. Ah glorious Quad Day! Even the Ancients never dreamed of such wonder and spectacle.

Every club summons their most shrill and galling members to cajole and entice the squalid collegiate masses into joining their ranks. Singing clubs serenade, fighting clubs display faux-fisticuffs, desperate clubs give stuff away, and some clubs even dance. That’s right. Inspired by the salesmen of pre-linguistic humanity, these sorry sacks of shit gambol and groove in delusional gambits of non-verbal persuasion. As a whole, the event is most accurately likened to a odorous man named Art continuously yelling, “Love Me!” in your ear while suggestively performing a dance that you fear may transmute into downright striptease.

Apart from the horror of the sundry clubs, the cretinous rabble that Quad Day draws will do nothing to hearten the repining observer. Attendees of Quad fall into four strictly delineated groups (apart from the inebrious few wandering through the Quad on their way to more tipple. Heaven save these pantagruelists! The depravity of scene is enough to cause sudden and fatal apoplexy to these sanguine saucers. Beware Quad Day, all those with a penchant towards crapulence, weak hearts, high blood pressure, or excesses of choler.).

First, résumé whores looking to festoon their CVs with beauteous new clubs and organizations. May God have mercy on their eternal souls. Second, spendthrifts looking for free loot. May the good Lord cure them of their afflictions before they drown in a torrent of the useless gratis goods they have massed. Third, beguiled Freshman who still have fantasies of an enriching and wholesome college experience. Poor devils. Finally, teetotalers looking for friends and social outlets. Oh Jesus Christo, our savior, please illuminate the path of righteous (AKA the way to Kam’s) to these lost lambs.

“Dearest Wit,” you may say, “If you know so much about Quad Day, you must have attended at least once. Wherefore?” Indeed, Perceptive Reader, I once condescended to take part in that most vile of days. My former master Dr. Nestor Ifthenes made me shill his wart removal cream (actually nothing but piss and ink) during Quad Day. Obviously (especially if you know that mountebank Ifthenes), we were quickly censured and excreted from the festivities. My shame knew no bounds, and I vowed to quit my foul master as soon as the great script in the sky allowed. Early the next morn, I stole away from my malevolent and mephitic master and managed to find the patronage of a kindly old scholar who molded and crafted my mind and developed the wit that I now use to earn my daily bread. His name was Sébaste, they called him an ass, but steadfast was his love and his fancy.

Anyways, even if Quad Day was not despicable and deleterious, I would still not attend because I already have my own club and feel no need to join any other. It’s called Shandy Hall and luckily the admission requirements are such that I remain the only member. Our activities are shrouded in secrecy, but our meeting are always quite well attended. Our motto is “Down Plonk Up Monk.” Apply thyselves, Noble Readers, and perhaps someday you can enter Shandy Hall. One word of advice- you will not find our booth at Quad Day. Look for us where potation and glee live in fair harmony.

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